Untitled In which Peter and James use cannabis
by Victorious Ashtree
Summary: James/Peter; For once in a long time Peter actually gets some time alone with his friend, James. No nookie, unfortunately. D: Warnings: drug use, slash, and a few curses scattered here and there. :D For Harpsiccord's "Get Peter Laid!" Fest.


"Wormy."

"Yeah?"

" . . . Hey. Hey, Pete."

"_Yeah_?"

"Dammit, Pete, answer me!"

"Ow! _What_!"

There's a giggle. James takes another drag, sucks deep from his gut, stares down at the joint, and grins. "This . . . this is grade A shit, man."

Peter rubs where James had jabbed his finger into his arm, but he laughs. He has no idea why the fuck it is so fucking funny, but it is, and he can't stop the cheerful guffaws that leave his mouth. "You're shitfaced, mate."

"Maybe a bit. Not as much as that poor sod there, though," James points out, nudging the bloke (Ravenclaw? Hufflepuff? Definitely not Slytherin, he knew that much) who is sprawled facedown into the carpet.

Peter sniggers, nudging the poor bloke with his foot as well, entertained by the smalls groans and wheezes he gives. It's becoming uncomfortably familiar, this inane urge to laugh, and if James pissing himself laughing is anything to go by, he's feeling the same thing.

Soon (but longer than it normally would have had they been sober) their laughter dies down to sighs and the occasional chuckle, and the bloke really isn't that funny anymore. James takes another quick drag, coughs a bit, and offers it to Peter. Peter takes a greedy suck from the joint and blows a steady stream of the foul-smelling smoke in the bloke's direction.

And there is silence.

"How is she?"

"Who?"

"Your mum, Pete. How is she?"

Peter is silent for a moment, then shrugs. "Fine enough, I s'pose. Still can't tell the difference between my dad and a hat, though."

James nods solemnly and gives his friend's shoulder a sympathetic pat. "Sorry 'bout that, mate. It's hard, innit?"

"Course it's hard. But what are you saying sorry for? I mean, you . . ." Peter rubs his nose and glances at James. His friend is silent, eyes sober as he stares down at the bloke. Peter inhales. "Did you, you know, actually know your parents? I mean, do you remember them?"

James fiddles with the bloke's hair and shakes his head. "Not really. A few things here and there, but not a lot."

"Has to be hard."

The silence returns, though more awkward, more unwelcome. Peter watches blankly as James combs his fingers through the bloke's dark curls, tugs, and turns the bloke's face towards them. James' Adam's apple bobs.

"Hey."

"Hm?"

"Hey, Pete."

"What is it, Prongs?"

James is hesitant for a moment, then: "He's sort of good-looking, isn't he?"

The look on Peter's face is dumbfounded; it makes James burst into uncontrollable giggles.

"Joking!" he says. He unleashes the bloke as though stung. "Just taking the piss, is all," he mumbles as he hugs his knees to his chest. He sends Peter a dirty shit-eating grin. "You still have the joint? My buzz's gone."

Peter only stares, the cindering stub of the joint burning his fingers, but he doesn't hand it to James. "He's . . . yeah, he's sort of good-looking," he admits quietly. James' eyes widen behind his glasses, and it makes Peter's heart beat faster. "I mean, if you're into that kind of thing."

James nods and looks back down at the bloke.

"Do you like that kind of thing, Prongs?"

His friend swallows. "No," he says, but it sounds more like 'yes'.

"Oh. Well, uh, I guess I sort of like that kind of thing."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

They look at each other. James face splits into a grin.

"You're taking the piss," he says and gives Peter a playful punch. "I know you are!"

Peter grins weakly and slaps James' hand away. "Yeah," he lies easily, "Yeah, yeah." He wonders when it became so easy to lie to his friends, to everyone.

The truth is, it isn't.

Their laughter dies down.

"Wormtail?"

"Yeah, mate?"

Peter hears James swallow.

"Peter?"

"_What is it, James_?"

"I think I'm messed up."

Peter chuckles. "That's 'cause you're shitfaced, Prongs."

James gives a frantic shake of his head. "No," he mumbles. He runs a hand through Peter's hair and tugs him closer.

"James?"

"Huh?"

"What're you doing?"

"Dunno." But his lips sure seem to know what they're doing, inching closer and parting slightly. Shit.

"You're going to kiss me?"

"Maybe."

" . . . Okay."

James swallows and gives Peter a chaste kiss on the lips, making a small slick sound when he pulls back. The awkwardness sets in when they both give weak smiles.

"This is really fucked up, Prongs."

"Yeah." James releases Peter's hair and looks down at the bloke who's giving short snores.

Peter looks down at his palm where the crushed cannabis lays. He jerks slightly when James wraps an arm around his shoulders. He glances up at James who is grinning from ear to ear.

"I think some good things are bound to happen to the two of us, Peter."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Peter hopes it's the truth.


End file.
